The Dark Reality of Our Situation
by redmonkey435
Summary: The responsibilities we clutch are too great for us, but if we did not shoulder them, who would?
1. My Only Comfort

She's the only one who can see me like this. The only one who can see the tears that fall. The only one who can see me when I break apart at the end of every battle. She's the only one I can trust.

She had joined the Shepherds in our worst moment. Some would say it was the unit's darkest hour. It isn't that to me. Instead, it is my only failure to the unit that I've dedicated my life to. The day our queen fell was the day I felt I had committed the greatest act of treason

My memories of the clash with Mustafa are even worse for me. He, the honorable man who offered us hope that was empty, did not deserve the cruel death he had received. Neither did any of his men deserve the twisted murder we inflicted on them. We fought like rabid animals, tearing apart any who stood before us. I sometimes wonder if it was simply out of desperation that we fought like savages or if we had unknowingly felt some satisfaction hurting those who had indirectly removed the light of our kingdom. I do not know which horrifies me worst.

Except for her. Tharja had fought simply because I was in danger. She did not care for the survival of our army or herself, only for me. As she whispers with her beautiful voice incantations of pestilence, I realize, in both horror and amazement, that she inflicts death unto others because she sees me as the only person worthy of her love. It is another sin I must atone for.

At first, Tharja attempted to stalk me, and I tried to stop her. I tried to drive her away, not wanting her to commit evils for me. When that doesn't work, I try to ignore her, hoping she would give up on me. I soon realized feigned ignorance would not work.

The first night Tharja slept in my bed, it is not for passion or love. It is for my comfort. I allowed her to follow me inside my tent, knowing that like a mouse, she wouldn't refuse the cheese. It isn't the trap of death that awaits but one of confession. As I held her to me and inhaled the scent of her radiant hair, I wept and began to admit my crimes. I told her of how I wished for peace yet betrayed it by allowing and leading an evil thing such as war. I remembered all the common men and women I had sent to their deaths and revealed to the kind angel that I held to my chest and whose hair I wept into that I wished I had been the one who died, that I hated myself for ordering them to their deaths.

I thought that maybe she would see me for the monster that I am. Secretly, I longed for her to reject me. Instead, she simply held me and whispered that I had not committed evil. She said that I had simply done what I needed to do. I tried to refute her claims, exclaiming that I had made her commit evils for me. She denied it and said that she would have acted as she had even if I hadn't ordered her to, massaging my back in a soothing manner as she did so. By the end of the night, I fell asleep with my head into between her bosom as she gently played with my raven locks.

No one knows of that night, but all have seen the aftereffects. Tharja walks at my side wherever I go as it comforts me to have her by my side. I smile more with her and become moodier without. The effect is two-way as well. While still not a warm person to others, myself excluded, she becomes more open to others. Some of the other women begin to actively seek her out and talk to her.

When he first saw us holding hands, Chrom gave us a questioning look. I simply shrugged, not wanting him to pry. He accepts it, trusting me with my decisions. How I wish I could place such a great burden on him as well.

No, I wouldn't do that to him. I wouldn't force that onto anyone. Tharja volunteered, and that is why I love her. She knows the real me, the one who doubts his own abilities daily. She knows why I cry at the royal wedding and our own, when we discover our daughters, when I find out who my father is, when Grima uses his powers, and when I begin to die after the final is the only one who knows and who truly comforts me.

That is why I trust her. That is why I love her. That is why I will return to her.

* * *

_I don't know where this came from exactly. I just started writing it around nine pm, finished around eleven pm, and decided to post it as is. No real proofreading, no real editing, just something I decided to write. I'm not really sure what genres I would put this in, with the closest being Hurt/Comfort and Romance. Either way, review if you want, even if only to say that it is awful._


	2. The Uncomfortable Truth

Long ago, I wondered what my future held and if my actions will change the course of our world for the better. Tharja offered me elixirs that would supposedly bestow me the eyes of a seer, but I refused them. That would be cheating fate, and while fate is willing to change, it will not do so for the unjust. At least, that's what I once believed. Before I saw the fruits of my actions in my daughter.

Morgan said that she wanted to be just like me, a great tactician, a fantastic slaughterer of men. I stood in shock as she told me that I had been teaching her to be my successor. I wondered if I had really been planning that in the future or if Morgan's jumbled recollections made her think this. Either way, I was now worried for her.

I began testing her to see if what she said was true. She held a firm grasp of the basics and most of the intermediary tactics and maneuvers, but seemed to lose control once the troop numbers became too large or the maneuvers too widespread. Talented, yet unrefined. That was a good thing, it meant that she could be driven from her course or at least be taught to understand my reasoning.

By this point, we had settled into a routine for her 'lessons', my way of keeping her unknowing of the testing. Every other night, we would go at it, playing through simulation after simulations, using miniatures to represent troops or platoons, cards to determine random events, and dice to decide the factors affecting combat and the outcome of combat as well. It could have been set up better, but it would do for my purposes. At first, the battles were mainly abstract, without morale, supplies, and body counts to worry with but with each passing night, I began to describe each one in more realistic detail. Eventually, the small scale battles, usually consisting of platoon sized unit pools, began to sound as if I was writing a story of horror, describing each and every death in elaborate yet true fashion to ensure that they would remain in Morgan's mind. The large scale conflicts were even worse, with accurate retellings of fields becoming saturated with blood from engagements that lasted days being the norm.

Morgan attempted to take it in stride, though I could see how she became more and more uncomfortable as the nights passed. At that point, I began to become particularly vindictive, using our allies, friends, and family as both victims of careless mistakes and required casualties for successful campaigns. I described each death in quite gory detail, adding in medical knowledge how and why each of them died from their wounds. The first time I did this, Morgan had run out of mine and Tharja's tent before promptly vomiting. All necessary to make her realize the uncomfortable truth.

The night came when she took the final step to realizing that horrible fact of our jobs. I had been cruelly unfair, pitting several dozen enemy platoons against her measly-sized force of two. She fought hard during the simulation, destroying five of them while routing another nine, but it was inevitable that she would lose. There was no chance to tactically retreat and reform at better positions in this battle as there had been during other conflicts, only continuous draining of blood and life. Soon, her force was crushed and her unit leaders, representations of the both of us, captured by the horde.

I will not begin to describe what I said they had done to her other than that, eventually, they simply kept her as a pleasure toy, but I will grace this parchment with my description of my own death. For days, they had tortured me, breaking every bone and destroying every organ with the exceptions of my heart and brain in my body before painfully repairing my broken shell each time with purposefully careless stave usage. As they began to grow bored with me and I did not relinquish any information, they proceeded with my final execution. I decided to go with a classic involving an elephant. The enemy had tied me to shorts little posts in the ground, four in all, one for each limb. It left me in a sort of spread eagle position. They brought the elephant and had it raise one foot and leg on top of me. It then proceeded to apply pressure and, well, I believe you can fill in the effects.

By the end of my death, it coming after hers, Morgan had broken down crying and she tore a fiery trail out of my tent. I sat there for a while, wondering if I had done the right thing in the situation. I soon recalled that morals could not play into my or her battle decisions, so if I was to teach her that lesson, I would have to take the morally dead yet pragmatically effective route I had. At least, that is what I said when I regaled Tharja with the tale and she had comforted me during my own subsequent breakdown.

The next day, Chrom confronted me, rage burning in his eyes. He accused me of evil, demanding that I explain my actions. So I did just that. I told him everything that involved Morgan including my reasoning for why my method, while morally bankrupt, was the only one that had an chance of giving any indication of if my daughter was ready for my role.

I suspect that my king still resents me to some small degree, but by the end of my explanation, I knew he had seen my reasoning as at least logically sound. Cold and heartless I may be, but he knew I wouldn't commit to this course without justification. Besides, he knew that I lead the strategy of our army, and that included finding a emergency successor in case of my untimely demise.

The next night, when the lessons were scheduled to continue, Morgan had done something that I had hoped she wouldn't but still expected her to. She returned to the tent, sitting sullenly in her chair in front of my fold up chair I had crafted for on-the-go planning and had been using for our simulations. For a minute, I had studied her as she sat there, watching for any emotions that crossed, both consciously and subconsciously through tells. Then, I asked her if she knew why I had done what I had done.

She didn't disappoint either. She said in a calm and civil tone that I was trying to teach her that our job was not a good or easy one. We had to make choices every second, trying to save as much as possible for the next battle by sacrificing as little as possible. It meant we chose who lived and who died. It meant we had to be the ones that were secretly hated by so many families yet were constantly hailed as heroes by the families who didn't lose sons and daughters to our necessary butchering tactics. We trimmed the fat of our army's body by sending those men to die and hardened the rest into tought and experienced muscle. We were the men and women who would stop at nothing to win and never have to submit to the enemy.

Tears began to fall down her face again as she finished, and I knew I had made the right decision. She had accepted my philosophy on our ugly business. I drew into a gentle hug, allow her to cry into my chest. Eventually, both Tharja and Noire, mine and Tharja's older daughter who had come back in time disliking battle already, joined us in the embrace. That is how we remained for a long while, healing the wounds I had inflicted into necessary scars.

Morgan began to study even more relentlessly, but with a different purpose. She sought ways to end conflicts diplomatically before resorting to violence. She already knew too much of how to indirectly kill others. Now, she learns to protect those same people.

I learned the uncomfortable truth long ago, and now she has learned it. We both now work to make certain that others do not need to be taught it.

* * *

_Boom, people wanted more and I attempted it. Since this is technically a continuation to the previous chapter, I decided that for Morgan to study under her father, she needed to learn the uncomfortable truth. It ended up being relevant to the real world in a way as well. Huzzah, I'm sprouting philosophy men like Lee and Grant seemed to embody and follow._

_ Definitely darker than the previous chapter, I guess you can call this my philosophical thesis on the subject of war, specifically the issue of being the commander and its effects. To make war is to do evil things for the right reasons. People will hate you for it even though, again, it was for the right reasons. Rightfully so, because more than likely, if you're not a sociopathic person who doesn't see people as individuals, you will begin to secretly hate yourself and seek ways to atone for your actions. Be it religion, good works, and simply not committing your deeds a second time, it's all because you want to atone._

_ To provide explanation of Robin's actions, I feel he played out Ender if Ender was a little bit more like Graff and Rackham. If you haven't read or watched Ender's Game, then the comparison is probably lost on you so I apologize for that._

_Since I don't know if there's anything else to add to this story, I'll mark it as complete though you shouldn't take that as a guarantee.  
_


	3. Warning of a Good Man

_Someone suggested that I have my version of Robin react to the revelation that either Morgan or Noire has a boyfriend. Since I decided to keep it at least partially philosophical in nature, I decided to use Gerome for this as his attitude in coming back would put him at odds with Robin at the best of times._

* * *

When Morgan had appeared upset in the planning tent, I hadn't expected the golden opportunity she would provide me with. She had been training with the other children earlier in the day, when an accident involving Cherche's son had occurred. Apparently, the stoic boy had been hit over the head by Lissa's son, rendered unconscious, and taken back to his tent. I set out immediately, a small smile on my lips.

About a week before, Morgan had been more excited than usual. When questioned, she said that Gerome had proposed to her. Now, both her and her sister had set about planning the engagement while Tharja prepared hexes in case the boy backed out and hurt her little girl.

I hadn't been as surprised as Tharja had been. As the tactician, I listened to every conversation between the camp's inhabitants and knew all their secrets so I could plan for every encounter. I had known of the courting and simply allowed it, not thinking anything would come of it. Now, however, I needed to do something. I was now required to set the boy right and instill fear in him.

Coming to the tent that Gerome called home, I kept behind a stack of crates and listened to the insides of the tent to ensure that the boy's parents were not around. While it was rather late and most would be eating their final meal of the day, it was best that I not be caught in this act. Cherche had heard of my actions to prepare Morgan and I doubted she would let me near her son after we had nearly come to blows during our first few conversations.

Pushing the tent flap to the side, I entered to find that Gerome was awake and reading a book. His mask being off put the encounter in my favor, giving me the chance to better read him. For a moment, he sat there shocked at my arrival before reaching for his mask. I ordered him to leave it off as I drew up a chair, and he complied willing to my demand.

I began with an assurance that I wasn't there to harm him, hoping he would lower his guards further. He proved brighter than that, choosing to stay on edge. Good, he knows that I know. I proceeded on by asking how he was after the accident, receiving a positive answer in response, then moved on to the bigger issue.

He sputtered for a moment when I asked his intentions for my daughter, so I stopped him there. I asked him why he had come back in time, and questioned his motives as he didn't seem willing to protect the wyvern preserve even if that was to be Minerva's new residence. If he wanted Minerva to be happy with other wyverns, then why didn't he attempt to protect the other wyverns from the poachers till we arrived? He was visibly startled at the gap in his logic.

I built on his half hearted action then and moved to his seemingly lack of concern for not only the world but also his parents. With his knowledge of the future, why did he seem to not care if they died when he could attempt to change that fact. He paled at that, realizing that I was moving onto the damning conclusion.

I stated that if he was so cold and half-hearted to both his precious partner and his parents, then I couldn't trust him to ensure my daughter's safety. It wasn't a matter of if I liked or disliked him or of his status in society. It was a matter of if he was truly able to be committed to protecting the one I held precious and was entrusting to him.

I gave him one warning, one chance to prove himself, "Do not think you will enter into this union with Morgan without conditions, _boy._ She already faces a hard road ahead of her without you betraying her. So let this be the oath you swear to till your dying day. You will not abandon her because you believe some sort of fickle fate told you too. You will hold her above all else in importance. You will always serve as her comforter in her hour of need because I know for certain she will need one after this ordeal is over and done with."

"They call me a good man, Gerome. They say that because they think I am honorable, noble, that I hold myself to a set of rules of justice and fairness. They are wrong and foolish for thinking that of me. I am not honorable. I am not noble. I do not have rules of justice and fairness. A good man I may be, but a good man does not need rules. He only needs to do good, be it by lawfulness or unlawfulness, by fair or unfair. Gerome, do not make me forget my rules. I am already an unholy terror with them, _imagine if I was without them._"

He was white as a sheet now after my speech. He asked why I spoke as I had while I begin to leave. At the tent flap, I turned back my head to glare at him.

"Because this world is unfair enough as it is. It is a hellish place where life can be snatched away in an instant because of a simple oversight. Gods know that I learned that lesson more than two years passed. I've taught that lesson to Morgan as well, but she hasn't experienced it yet."

"When she does, it will be soul-crushing. It will wreck her mentally, leaving her adrift as she wonders why she failed. When that happens, you need to be there. You need to be the one she turns to, the one whose chest she silently cries into. The only one who can listen to her pains. She will seek you and you will be there for her."

"Now then, let's put this ugly business behind us so you can be a good man, _son._" I left him there, terrified at the thought of my presence. I already knew that he won't back out. He cannot retreat and stop the music. He's already taken the first steps.

* * *

_I'm starting to realize how scary Robin can be. He's scarier than even the Doctor or Rory, and those two were downright terrifying at times with their actions._

_ So there's my attempt at The Talk and I shove a massive, lights flashing, 'HELLO, I'M A TARGET!' reference to Doctor Who. Definitely the weak leg of this horse, so I apologize in advance._


	4. Why Don't You Run Away?

_ I'm surprised no one has mentioned that I broke my normally abstract style of implied dialogue and included actual dialogue in the previous chapter._

* * *

Why don't you run away from it all?

Why do you show mercy on this country? Its history disgusts you, yet you watch its every move with fascination. You have nothing to gain from it, yet you say the work needed is a great bounty. The countless wars cause the tears in your eyes to swell. Why do you rescue it?

Rescuing it over and over again is going to catch up to you. One day, you'll slip up and it will all come crashing down around you. The great works you guard will burn, the great structures you monitor will fall to pieces. Brick by brick, nothing will be left except for you.

Why do you help these people? Your debt to them has been paid hundreds of times, yet you stay with them. You don't like half the lot, yet you say you care for them all. None of them matter in any of your grand plans, all of them replaceable with others. Why do you protect them?

Eventually, they'll grow old. They'll become senile and forget you. Not a memory of you left, they'll die not remembering how grateful they were for your mercy. You'll receive no just kindness from their descendants, not caring for the fact that you helped ensure their meager existence. Shred by shred, all evidence of your existence will be lost except for you.

Why do you serve him? He isn't the rightful king, yet you obey his every call. He came to power only through death, yet you say he deserved such power all his life. He doesn't heed your warnings without hesitation, rushing into action too soon. Why do you answer him?

His power will corrupt him, just like his father. He'll most likely prove to be another tyrant, causing suffering for the unfortunate. He will use your legacy against you, turn all your friends away from your cause. He will leave you without anyone to trust.

Why did you save them? They call you father, yet you only know them as strangers. They provide you with constant headaches, yet you laugh at their antics. They only get in the way of your efforts, causing trouble for all around. Why do you care for them?

They're not going to follow your wisdom. They'll follow their headstrong ways and you will have to rescue them again and again. They'll never learn differently. One day, they will cause you great pain by dying because of their ways.

Why do you love me? I was only a stalker, yet you opened up to me and me alone. The others did not trust me, yet you told me all of your secrets, weaknesses, and ideas. You hold me so close at night, seeking out comfort when I am unable to give it. Why do you hug me so gently?

* * *

Because I love it all.

The country is the only hope for the world. Its people are kind and gentle. Its days of war are soon to pass and it will soon shine like a beacon of peace for all to see. That is why I am merciful and rescue day after day.

I never owed them a debt. I always aided them in their battles because it is the right thing to do. I have my disagreements with some of them, but that does not mean I should not care for them. I help and protect them because it is what my heart says is the just course.

He isn't just some king. He is a brother to me, helping in my hour of need. The courage and strength he needed to take control of the land when his sister passed was remarkable. He will never fall to the temptation of power as long as he holds those admirable qualities. That is why I serve and answer to him.

They are in the same situation as me. Lost with no one to help, they look to me and I know I must help. They love me unconditionally and I they. As their mother, you feel the same for them as I do and you would do the same as I do. That is why I saved and care for them.

You're the only one who didn't first see me as an oddity. You're the only one who listened to my complaints willingly. You never gave up on me. You do give me comfort, Tharja, just by staying with me at night. That is why I love you and hug you so close.

All because I love it, Tharja. Even if it means that I have to sacrifice myself, I will protect all that I hold dear to my soul. Especially, my dear, for you.

* * *

_Another random idea that popped into my head about forty minutes before I finished it._


	5. A Letter from a Missing Figure

Dear, tomorrow, we're going to face the toughest fight of our lives. I'm going to be there, leading the charge. I know I'm going to die, little one. It's the only way to kill that thing, and if it protects our family, then I will gladly die. So let me give you final bit of advice in case I don't find a way to rise from the dead.

Don't ever run away, Morgan.

No matter what you do, don't ever hide away from your troubles. I know it's going to be tough when I'm gone. I know what your mother's going to be like when I'm gone, so don't expect her to cuddle you. She's not going to tuck you in at night, lovingly kiss you head, and tell you that everything is going to be okay. You know that too, but I thought that I should make that clearer.

Noire is going to be able to help either. Trust me, she won't. The lessons that I taught you, she doesn't know them. She won't understand the pains you'll have no matter how much she tries because I haven't taught her like I've taught you. Everything you two do, no matter similar, will always be fundamentally different.

I'm sorry that I'm putting you on the spot, but I need you to be strong. You're going to be the one the other kids look towards for guidance. It's going to hurt, leading them, just as it hurt when I lead the Shepherds, but don't run away. I know that you can endure it. You're strong, stronger than all the rest.

You know how Gerome always seems scared of me? It's because I gave him an important task. He's going to be your comforter when I'm gone. I made him swear to that before I let him marry you so that you would never be alone. If you need to talk to anyone, then go to Gerome, he'll listen to your worries, let you cry into his chest, keep all your secrets safe. He knows what he has to do, and I know he'll do it just fine.

Everything I've done, Morgan, was to make certain that the future was as bright as possible, lately for you and Noire, my precious ones. Before I met you two, I protected your mother from the troubles that I saw engulf the land. Before her, I passionately fought for a just king who asked nothing from me even though he may very well have saved my life. Every action I've committed, good or bad, right or wrong, was for someone I've cared for and wished to protect with all my being. You will do the same, I know it, we're too alike for you not to.

I'm sorry, it's getting close to daybreak, and Chrom will need me to rally the troops. I'll try wrapping this up quickly.

Remember, sweetie, Dad has always loved you. I have and will always been proud of you, no matter what cause you take up. I ask only that you do not break from my words.

Be strong and never run away from your future, Morgan. I love you.

* * *

A single tear made a trail down my cheek as I sat in Gerome's lap and read Dad's letter. He had left it in my pack right before the final battle and asked that I didn't read it till after we finished. I understand why he wanted it that way, "I will, Dad, I will."

* * *

_So that was odd for me to write. I won't say why, but I'll put it as that a very important date is coming up and I guess you could call my tribute to the man associated with that day._

_ So I probably won't be updating till after the weekend due to midterms and having volunteered to work at a fundraiser for JROTC at the Bristol races (NASCAR for people who don't know what I'm referring to or if you live outside the USA) on both Saturday and Sunday. If any of you all are going on either Saturday, Sunday, or both even, I believe we're going to be selling lemonade so if you want to try and spot me, look for the pale guy with Converse glasses and maybe a black Air Force cap. If it isn't a special Air Force hat, then it'll just be a black cap._


	6. Thoughts on an Island

_I've been watching HBO's miniseries "The Pacific" recently and decided that I would set the next chapter in the island jungles of the Southwest Pacific. Story-wise, I consider this officially non-canonical and is simply something I wanted to write for my own pleasure. Then again, the whole 'story' isn't really a connected piece, mostly my ramblings on Fire Emblem._

_ Random thought, imagine all the kids from Fire Emblem are replacing characters from M*A*S*H and try to figure all who would be who._

_**Warning:**__ The characters are going to sound politically incorrect here. It won't be at all heavy because I don't like it, but it's there because that's how most people spoke back then. Trust me, it's better to accept the less than reputable parts of your history instead of trying to cover it up or white wash it._

* * *

"For the last _damned _time, Chrom, no, I do not know where we are!" I shouted as quietly as possible as I kept trying to identify our location on the map. "Bad enough we're stuck on this god-forsaken rock, I would rather not listen to your complaints on my map-reading skills, Sir." At the moment, we were crouched down and listening to the surrounding tranquil chaos, Lieutenant Chrom, me, and our small-or-large-depending-on-who-you-asked team.

I scanned the map again, trying to find our location on the map, using moonlight as a source of illumination. It was getting close to dawn and we needed to hurry back to base. We had been sent behind enemy lines to cause hell for the Japs while the rest of the division hunkered down and hoped for resupply and reinforcements. God knows we needed, most of our operations being waged near-starvation and under-supplied.

"Hey, Bubbles, how about you let me take a quick look?" Corporal Gaius Lorenz, age 22, about two years younger than me. Originally from Queens, the records showed that he had been busted for robbing some sort of sweet shop even though, as the sun-kissed orange haired guy told, he had just been taking the candy instead of the money. The judge decided that, as a mercy, he would give the candy thief a choice of jail or joining our merry little band. Though a tad bit shady, the kid has proven himself reliable, always completing his assignments quietly and with as little or as much collateral damage as needed.

I rejected his offer, not wanting the quickest route to an Aussie's candy store. However, the nuts never stopped with one, they always came in exponential numbers.

"How about Ole' Teach show you around the jungle, boss?" Private First Class Vaike Hall, age 27, from southwest Arizona. I don't know what attracted the tanned desert man to the Marines when the war started, but he had joined up without knowing how to swim or shot a rifle. Basic had beaten that knowledge and how to carry and shot a water-cooled machine gun into his head, but not much else. Though he called himself Ole' Teach, he wasn't neither the oldest nor the brightest of our band, though he knew what he needed to do as you reminded him to bring his weapon with him.

"By way of your own shit droppings, Hall? Like hell I would follow you around." Staff Sergeant Basilo Grands, age 36, another artificially dark-skinned man but from Florida. A hunter and fisher by trade, he was by far the oldest of our group and was the most experienced. He was always watching for the next fight, always prepared for a chink to jump out and try to stab him. Had good reason to, seeing as he had a wife, Flavia, and two kids back in the states. Though I ran the show in strategy and Lieutenant led the actual execution of plans, it was usually Grands who motivated the Shepherds into action.

The Shepherds, ha, what a motley crew of ragtag specialists we are. Formed from men and surprisingly women who volunteered for the duty, we were the group called in for the truly dangerous work. The lads on beaches may already be dead in seriousness, but we had graves dug and waiting for us, be it in the sand, wet ground, or, hopefully, back in America. Based on intercepted Jap transmission, they had a pretty vivid picture of us being high-strung rapists and thieves given free reign to commit mass murder with high-power explosives and unstoppable strength in the name of the USMC. Well, at least they got the high-strung thieves and heavy explosives, though I preferred if they respected my work as a chemist when it came to volatile brews.

First Sergeant Robin Altman, age 24, college graduate from Tennessee. Depending on who you asked, I'd be called a walking medical miracle, able to cure any injury and wound, a omniscient strategist, able to counter and overcome all odds, or, as mentioned earlier, a mass-murdering chemist. Most of the Sheps simply called me Birdy for my apparent flightiness on breaks or when making instruments of death, excluding Gaius with his patented 'Bubbles' nickname and my girl Tharja who always affectionately called me Darling. There was a running joke that I was able to hold my breath under water long after the bubbles stopped coming up due to a training incident where I had to drag Vaike from under the waves.

Finally, I located our position and grabbed my '03 before signaling the Lieutenant. Chrom got the message and we made our trek to the northwest.

First Lieutenant Chrom Rogerson, age 25, my CO and best friend from the time we were kids running around in diapers as his older sister Emmeryn chased after us. We had joined up together, Chrom wanting to serve his nation and me tagging along to keep him breathing. At least I met Tharja as a plus because sometimes I wanted to smack the blue-haired man for his ideas. Really, the only reason I hadn't taken the promotion to CO before it was offered to Chrom was because I didn't want to break off my weird thing with Tharja. Either way, we were stuck in the war till the end of the whole affair so we planned to keep each other and our unit alive at least till then. It was the least we could do for each other.

Around us, the jungle quietly hummed as it engulfed us once again in its wide maw and we made our way to back home.

* * *

Sometimes, I will lie awake at night, simply holding Tharja to me. While we don't have to worry about the enemy due to the Shepherd HQ's location at the beach, far enough from the front for enemy raids to be impossible, we are always quiet with our love-making, not wanting others to become involved in our relationship. While Tharja does stick close to me at all times unless one of us goes out on a mission separately, we tend to be private about our habits.

Lance Corporal Tharja Crafts, age 23, raised in Louisiana. Born on the bayou, Tharja was into the voodoo cultist stuff, talking about hexing people who upset her though usually my confronting of the offenders satisfied her. That or the rutting in bed, but it worked either way. She tended to keep quiet most of the time, not complaining of the bad heat streaks or the sudden downpours that the islands seemed to swap daily. Instead, I do most of the talking, talking about how the things in the camp were going, how radiantly beautiful she is, how the workload is slowly getting more and more stressful, how absolutely brilliant she can be, how I thought the sun was slowly frying the brains of the troops, how darkly funny she could be. Did I mention that I love her?

Either way, many nights, I find myself awake, thinking of our situation. Being under-supplied, under-manned, and questioning of average life expectancy tended to do that to a man. Tonight, I quietly unwrap myself from Tharja and gently leave our makeshift bed to stand at the opening of our tent. The opening faced the opening, so I look out at the ocean, sparkling beautifully under the moon-light. Sometimes, I wish we could just leave the dark beastly jungle, me, Tharja, Chrom, and all the other Shepherds, and swim free in the ocean, where there was no war. I wonder if we'll make through the next day and if one of us doesn't, what would the other two do.

I watch for what seems like hours, and I begin to realize that the reason why we fight is so we can be alive. To know that we are still living is our motivation and reasoning. We do not fight for our country and certainly not to kill others. Instead, we do it for each other, to make sure our odd little family is safe. We fight as a family and win as a family. That should be our motto, I'll have to suggest that to Chrom when we start getting rewarded for our actions.

Eventually, Tharja stands besides me and we wrap our arms around each, basking in the glory of the view before heading back inside. I fall asleep with my comforter wrapped in arms.

* * *

_That was longer than I expected it to be. Hopefully, it's good enough to make up for that other chapter..._


	7. The Witch and The Demon

It absolutely broke her heart when she looked at her son.

He was just a child. A boy with no notions of the future. She knew one day he would grow to fear his own shadow because of his fate. She chocked at the thought.

Everywhere they went, the events would repeat themselves. For a few months, they would remain to themselves, a wealthy widow with a adorable son. The lies always worked, no one ever had enough time to begin questioning her on who the father had been. They always had to escape from their pursuers before then.

Eventually, she would grow at ease and take her son into the town. Robin always held tightly to her hand, never letting go without permission. Originally a behavior she had imprinted onto him, now it was a precaution he alone took because of what had happened before. Of when he first used the power of darkness to kill.

* * *

At the young age of six, he had been exploring like any curious child would. He had hoped that this new town would be home, that they would be left alone by their pursuers and be able to live a normal life. On his expedition, he came across a sight that sat in a wrong manner with him.

He saw a group of children huddled around a spectacle. All of them were of similar age to him, all except one. A large boy who was in the center of the mob of little ones. At first, as Robin pushed through the crowd, he could only see the boy's arm and fist being lifted and dropped quickly and repeatedly.

Then he broke through the bodies and saw that there was another under the boy. A little girl, younger than Robin with raven-black hair, was attempting to protect herself against the onslaught the boy was raining upon her from his position atop her. The other children did not help her. No, they cheered and shouted encouragements to the boy, yelling that the girl deserved the beating for being a witch.

Robin had stood for a moment, shocked at the brutality of display before him. Then, something within him snapped and he charged. He did not remember clearly what happened next, but he knew the boy was bleeding on the ground, alive but unconscious. The cheering had stopped, the turned tables having silenced all around. The swift brutality with which Robin stuck the bully seemed unreal, even if it was not as horrible or as undeserved as the one the girl had been receiving before.

They dispersed, screaming that Robin was a monster, that he was a demon. They did not see him as human, they now saw him as something that the 'witch' had summoned. He did not hear them as he walked over to the little girl he had saved. At first, she still cowered, afraid that he was another who wanted to hurt her. He simply smiled and helped her up, saying that he was glad she was okay and that the boy hadn't hurt as bad as he had thought.

For a moment, she tried to process what Robin had said. Then, she hugged him. She had found someone to trust, someone who didn't call her a witch for being able to use dark magic. Robin hugged back, happy that he now had a friend in his new home.

* * *

The duo became best friends. Tharja, the girl who Robin had protected, followed him everywhere, spending every waking hour with him and his mother. Robin watched in amazement at Tharja's magic preforming feats that he thought only his mother was capable of, and he begged her to teach him how to use magic. She did so, and soon, all the children knew that the boy they called the witch's demon also knew magic and would not hesitate to protect his lady with hexes.

It was the happiest Alicia had ever seen her son, but she still worried for him. She saw what the children couldn't, the distrustful and hateful glares the townsfolk sent them. The young mother had to resort to subtly releasing her own power to keep the people in line and soon, she began to hear whispers of plans being made. Of how their house would burned mysteriously in the night. However, she did not hear of the one that was aimed directly at her charges.

* * *

Two years after the two friends had met was when the people struck. They had been walking through the backstreets of the town, taking a shortcut to Robin's house. One second, he could feel the glowing amber rays of the setting sun and the next, he felt a sharp crack against the back of his head and fell into darkness.

When he awoke, he was in a field with his hands bound behind his back and his legs tied together. The field had recently been harvested of grain and so was filled only with low grass. Before him, he saw a wooden pole atop and in the center of a pile of wood and around him, there was a large gathering of villagers, yelling and jeering at a form tied to the pole. He then realized who that form was and began screaming.

Tharja was crying there, knowing what was about to happen. She was going to be burned alive, and there was nothing that could be done. She saw Robin on the ground a distance away thrashing about on the ground and screaming out in horror. She knew he wouldn't be able to reach her even if he became unbound, the men surrounding them with clubs would ensure that.

The leader of the mob, a torch in hand, was making a speech, rallying the mob. He yelled that they would first burn her then Robin next. Soon, she heard the end of his speech and the man began pulling back to toss the torch at the awaiting pyre. She closed her eyes and began to silently cry as the torch was thrown, awaiting the flames to consume her.

Except they never came. She opened her eyes and witnessed the horrified gazes of the adults that had previously been crying for her death. She followed them and saw, in the air, the torch caught by _something_. A tendril of some kind kept it from reaching her and she followed the length of it, all the way back to Robin.

Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the ominous that surrounded her friend and the tendril was attached to.

* * *

Robin did not control the artificial limb nor any of the others that came forth. He simply looked and they attacked, never obeying his orders to stop. They simply kept clawing and striking ceaselessly. There were no innocents before him and so the arms simply tore apart all around him indiscriminately. Except for one, the only one he cared for, Tharja. The hands freed her and sheltered till he reached her. Then, he protectively embraced her as the massacre around them continued.

The last memory Robin had of that night was of the field which ran crimson with life and the whimpering of his only friend.

* * *

When he next awoke, he sat on a horse with his mother. They had run away again, as they always had. Except now, they had left something valuable behind, someone important to Robin.

He made a silent oath to himself that day. He would return one day to that town, no matter who tried to stop him. He would do so to find and protect his only friend.

* * *

Though he now had amnesia, Robin faintly recognized her years later. They faced each other on the battlefield, magic to magic. Yet she did not attack him nor did he her. Instead, she moved to his side and quickly embraced him. In his mind, he knew her as an enemy but for some reason, could not bring himself to hurt her. Thus, they stood together against her former king, he as her only protector and her as his only beloved.

He couldn't recall why she was so important to him at first or what had separated them in the first place. Instead, the two decided to make new memories for themselves to replace those lost ones of when she was the witch and he her demon.

* * *

_Because I was in the mood to write something and it's been about two weeks since I wrote a Fire Emblem one-shot. I know that this probably doesn't comply with Tharja's backstory at all, but I wanted to write something about Robin's early life._


	8. Rats Within the Home

This had not been the results he had expected.

Thirty-four minor lords killed and another one hundred and thirty-two awaited trial for treason. Yet even though there were already so many captured or kill, there were still small skirmishes being fought in the Ylissean and Feroxi countryside and rebel officers being arrested. Chrom had been told that the sweeps would be through to rout out all dissent, but he couldn't fathom the possibility that were so many involved.

Three months beforehand, Robin had delivered an urgent intelligence report to his king. There was apparently murmurs amongst the minor nobility that Robin was possessed by Grima and had persuaded Chrom to turn from his ideals and beliefs. He had laughed then, thinking that his best friend was joking. He hadn't understood how deeply cut Robin had been by the accusations.

Chrom gave his tactician authorization to watch these men and monitor their movements. Robin had set to work immediately, calling up Gaius and Kellam to assist in the assignment. By the end of the month, they had gathered a list of the names of several families that were mostly located along the border with Regna Ferox. Chrom had believed that the cold wilderness and isolation had been the cause of their suspicions and set about writing letters of appearance before him. He had hoped that there would be a peaceful resolution to the debacle.

Then Basilo and Flavia had provided the knife to that hopeful heart. There was a similar state in Ferox of noblemen who believed that the Khans' marriage would destroy their country's belief in the rule of the strongest. While similar, their emergencies should have been separate, however, Robin had noted that the members of both groups had been corresponding secretly. That had piqued his interest, and soon, Robin's task had expanded to identify possible links between the dissenters.

They were in the beginnings of raising armies to fight together against both Ylisse and Regna Ferox. There appeared to be no plans for what would occur if they succeeded, only that they would establish their lands as independent of the nations. In simple terms, joint civil war then anarchy on the borderlands ruled over by warlords.

Chrom could not allow such an event to occur. He could not allow his subjects to be subjected to such chaos. In short order, he had gathered back majority of the Shepherds and gave Robin orders to put down the rebel faction before it could explode. His friend had only grimly nodded before leaving his presence.

That had been a fortnight before. Three days and nights had been what was required to raise the king's and Khan's armies. Three days and nights of quiet peace, the calm before the storm. Then, Robin struck down upon the enemy and lived up to his name of the Roaring Dragon.

In those eleven days, Robin had launched multiple simultaneous offenses against the enemy in the dead of night, sweep across the towns. Most the enemy's forces were trained hardly better than militia and had soon broke after light fighting in most cases, yet the man never relented, ordering pursuit to be given in every case. He would not allow a single traitor escape, from the lowest private to the highest general. They would all be judged for their crimes or punished, and if they resisted capture, they would be considered guilty and put down like dogs.

Only one or two major holdouts remained but would soon collapse. If not by surrender or assault by regular infantry, then Robin would carry the grève final. He had not specified what such a thing would be, yet Chrom reasonably understand that the enemy would most likely be killed to the last man by his friend.

Robin sometimes horrified Chrom. The brutal efficiency that Robin dispensed death and war with was terrifying and Chrom questioned if Robin truly enjoyed peace.

* * *

"Why did you go so far with it?" It was a simple question, but it had been nagging at the back of his mind. Ever since the crushing of the possible insurrection and subsequent trials and executions, Chrom had wondered why his friend had been so cruel.

With a hard face, Robin looked up from the book he had been studying and spoke simply, "If rats have begun the construction of a nest in your home, do you not seek to exterminate the entire population?"


	9. Of Lost Innocence

It had been two months. Eight weeks of war. When Donnel had first joined the Shepherds and the war with Plegia had started, he knew nothing of how terrible hell would prove to be.

It had been three days since the Exalt's death. Three days of running and hiding, of crying and screaming, for the Ylissean forces. A day into their escape from Plegia, they clashed with Mustafa. It had been horrible fighting the honorable man. He had offered mercy if they surrendered, even though Mustafa knew he wouldn't be able to save them.

Two hour of frantic and rushed brawling ensued . The Ylissean army, a trapped animal, knew it would not live if it lost the battle, so all members, the Shepherds especially, pushed themselves to the height of their abilities so as to survive. By the time Mustafa was slain, his dying wish could be fulfilled only in a hollow manner. The bodies of his men were collected from the field and given what hasty burials could be given by a hobbled army. It was better that way than to let them rot in the blood and rain of the battlefield.

Donnel had cried that night just as the Goddess had done so during the battle. He wept for the Exalt, the pacifist woman who seemed to be the only hope for sanity in the world. He shed tears for his friends amongst the common ranks who had sacrificed themselves for an army that may not survive another day. In the end, he cried for himself, his past innocence now gone, destroyed by the horrors of war that had taken place before him. Donnel was in a way now just a shell of his persona, no longer able to smile so easily and be as optimistic as before.

The next night, the army managed to cross the Plegian-Feroxi border and make camp in safety and protection as the Khans' armies came to stop the pursuing Plegian force. Late into the dark hours, Donne found himself sitting by a small fire. Earlier, the blaze had been larger as more Shepherds had still been awake eating food that wasn't rationed into tiny portions, but now, he had allowed the flames to die down to a more controllable form as he sat before them. It was how Robin found him, questioning the question of what to do next.

"You're awake, I see." His commander's voice startled Donnel. Picking up in his sword in reaction, he calmed once view of his commander sipping at a mug of coffee and sat back down. Robin joined him in sitting in the melting snow that surrounded the fire. For a few minutes, they sat there next to each other in silence, one in depressive contemplation and the other sipping at a terrible blend while watching the flames preform a improvised dance.

Finally, Donnel broke the imposed silence with a simple yet deeply-impacting question, "Sir, is it okay to be scared?" Robin continued to stare at the flames for a moment, as if not having heard his companion's inquiry. Then, Robin faced Donnel.

"Yeah, it's fine to be afraid. I'm sure all of us are a little bit afraid." Donnel began to cry again, but not in despair as he had done before. Now, it was in small relief that he wasn't alone in his fears. As Donnel buried his face in his arms and hands, Robin wrapped an arm around the country boy's shoulders and pulled him close.

They sat there for a long time, Donnel being comforted by Robin who was just as afraid of the coming days and what they may bring. They had been seen war for all its glory and horrors and knew that the darkness outweighed all else. They hoped together that one day, they would be able to warn the world of how terrible war and its employers were.

* * *

_I finally got around to writing something Fire Emblem-related that didn't completely focus on Robin and his family. I really do consider that an achievement for me._


End file.
